Years From Now
by Sydella
Summary: Reborn's life story is a long, twisted road, filled with love and violent battles.
1. Chapter 1

Rule 1: The stories of hitmen have no beginning, no middle and no end. This is a lie.

Rule 2: Hitmen are nothing more than a means to an end and do not feel emotions, unlike ordinary humans. This is also a lie.

Renato Sinclair was born on a cold, dreary October day in the slums of Italy. Fittingly enough, it was both a Friday and the thirteenth day of the month. The country was in turmoil, with a beleaguered economy struggling to get back on its feet, and corrupt politicians who spent more time arguing with each other than actually accomplishing anything useful, as politicians are wont to do. In the midst of all this chaos, a woman gave birth to a crying baby, her shoulders slumping with relief and exhaustion as the infant was swaddled in cloth.

"Healthy?" she inquired weakly, fear and hope clashing in her dark, faded eyes.

"Perfectly healthy," the midwife reassured her. "Ten toes, ten fingers, and…" she peeked under the cloth and smiled. "You have a beautiful son."

"Oh, praises be to the sweet Lord," the infant's mother breathed. She held out her arms and the midwife carefully delivered the new-born into his mother's embrace. If the midwife noticed her client's expression warp into something evil and horrid, something _twisted_, she didn't let on.

"Well, I'll be going now," she said briskly, stowing her medical supplies into a sterile white bag. "If you need anything else, I am just a phone call or a letter away." She turned to leave.

The mother muttered to herself under her breath.

"I beg your pardon?" The midwife glanced back over her shoulder. "Did you say something?"

Her client looked up, all smiles and motherliness. "Oh, nothing. I was just telling my son what a great man he's going to be."

The midwife nodded and smiled, satisfied with a job well done, and left. Her client listened until the sound of receding footsteps faded into the distance, glaring at the wrinkled red face of her son.

"He _will _become a great man." The malevolent expression from earlier returned with a vengeance. "Or I will kill him myself."

X

Little Renato, all of eight years old, had barricaded himself in his bedroom. He crouched, shivering, on the cold, hexagonal tiles of his bedroom floor. On the other side of the door, his mother kept screaming and kicking. "Let me in! Let me in! LET ME IN!"

He put a hand over his mouth to stifle a sob. Abusive and neglectful, Emilia Sinclair was everything an innocent child would rightly fear and despise. And yet, no one came along on a white horse to rescue him. No one tucked him into bed at night and sang lullabies until he fell asleep. The country's troubles were only getting worse every year and children like Renato were overlooked by a cold-hearted and incompetent government.

Madness, that's what it was. Malaise. Anger. _Chaos_.

"YOU LITTLE SCUM!" his mother screamed. To his horror, the door gave way, groaning as it fell off its hinges and showered splinters of wood everywhere. For the rest of his life, that image would be seared into his mind-the unhinging of the door and its evil twin, the unhinging of his mother. Blurring into each other and overlapping like a Venn diagram, circles of a life torn apart.

Emilia rushed into the room like a mad bull and began hitting him repeatedly. His ears rang, his vision clouded over and blood spurted from his nose. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he wailed, but his mother didn't seem to hear him. She never did seem to hear anything above the thunderous roar of her insanity. At some point during the beating, Emilia lost her balance and paused for a moment. Renato seized this opportunity to make his escape.

He ran down the stairs, his heart pounding like a war drum. Behind him, his mother tried to chase him, but tripped over something. "COME BACK HERE!" she screamed as she lay on the floor, thrashing around and foaming at the mouth. _Never. No way. _Renato flung open the front door of his house and lurched out into the street.

One step, two steps, three. The further he travelled from his former life, the more terrified and exhilarated he became. Eventually, he slowed his pace to a walk and leaned against a wall while he caught his breath, looking around uncertainly.

He was on the outskirts of Milan, his home city. Passers-by glanced at him curiously, obviously wondering why a bloodied little boy was wandering around without parental supervision, but were just as quick to lose interest in him. Renato watched them through resentful, swollen eyes and wondered why, in a city full of people, there was no one for him to depend on.

He sat down, his tired legs no longer able to support him. The ground was cold and hard beneath him, and he owned nothing except the clothes on his back. A newspaper fluttered to the ground nearby, and from where he was sitting, he could see part of a headline. SOME LIFE, it blared at him. Some life indeed.

_Years from now, my son, you will be a great man. So great that the leaders of this country will bow before you and tremble when they hear your name! I'm always right. I just _know _that you will be a great man. _

Renato sucked his thumb-an old habit-and tried to make himself smaller. It was going to be a long night.

X

"Well, well." A voice-too strong to be a child's, too deep to be a female's-spoke from somewhere to his left. "It seems that you're finally awake."

Renato found that he was lying on a warm, soft surface. Some sort of thick white material was draped over his eyes, and through it, he could make out the outline of a man sitting within arm's reach. The unmistakable sounds of a liquid being poured reached his ears and suddenly his mouth felt parched.

"Here." Something cold and hard touched his lips. "I've made you a nice little cup of coffee."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Renato knew that he really shouldn't be accepting anything from a stranger, let alone something that might be poisoned, but he was tired, his head was full of fog and the coffee smelled wonderful. Besides, where else could he go?

He slowly sipped the coffee. It had a calming effect on him. His mysterious rescuer was silent as he drank, but he could feel the man's eyes on him. "Where am I?" he asked presently.

"Sicily," the man replied. "By the way, you may call me Ernesto."

_Sicily?! _Renato choked on his coffee. He was a long way from home.

"I found you on the outskirts of Milan," Ernesto continued. "I have…work, for lack of a better term, for you to do."

"But I don't even know you." The soothing properties of the coffee faded in an instant as fright hit him like a lightning bolt. He was miles from familiar territory, going home was not an option, and this strange man, Ernesto, had cornered him like a hunter catching an animal. "You will be arrested and imprisoned for kidnapping," he said, trying to sound braver than he felt.

"The _carabinieri _are as useless as the fools in our government, boy, and you know that very well." The thick white material draped over Renato's eyes slid off, and now he could see that Ernesto was smiling at him-a smile that was not unkind, yet devoid of warmth. "This country is turning into a shithole, and do you know what you can do about that? Nothing. At least, not in your current condition. But if you join me, I can give you power. Money. Influence. Women, if you so wish. Or men. Whichever you prefer."

"Stop talking like that, Signor Ernesto," Renato muttered, turning away. "I'm only eight years old. I'm just a kid, please don't hurt me." He did not want to hear this gentle yet cruel man spill forth such words, words that carried hope for a better life.

Ernesto studied him for a moment, then said quietly: "No, you're not eight years old."

Renato looked back at him, startled. Only now did he realise how bleak and empty Ernesto's eyes were-a black, barren wasteland of emotion. He shuddered, but Ernesto didn't seem to notice. "What do you mean?" the boy asked. He wanted to know the answer, but at the same time, he was also afraid to hear something he was unprepared for.

"I've searched your birth records," Ernesto calmly stated, ignoring a muffled squeak Renato couldn't help but let out. "You were born on a Friday the 13th fourteen years ago. October 13. The midwife who assisted in your delivery recently died of a fatal illness, but before she died, I tracked her down and she testified to the date of your birth."

Renato took a while to process this information, but when he did, he almost dropped the cup he was holding. "So…but then this means…I'm fourteen years old?!"

"That's right." Again with that cold smile. "Your mother is an excellent liar, and malnutrition can effectively disguise a person's age. You, Renato Sinclair, son of deranged Milanese criminal Emilia Sinclair, have been led to believe that you are still a child, but in truth, you are fourteen years of age. Well, fifteen in a month's time, actually."

"This…this cannot be." Renato stared at his reflection in the coffee. The murky brown liquid swirled, causing ripples and distortions in his mirror image. And then Ernesto's mention of his mother registered in the boy's brain. He sat bolt upright, almost dropping the cup again. "Wait. What do you mean, my mother's a criminal?!"

Ernesto gave him a challenging stare. "It's exactly what it sounds like. Your mother is a criminal who escaped the _carabinieri_'s grasp fifteen years ago, not that those buffoons even know what they're doing anyway. A man who helped her escape, a former prison guard, fucked her as a reward for his assistance and was shot to death a few hours later when his enemies caught up with him." Ernesto shook his head. "Sins of the fallen never go unpunished, I'm afraid. Your mother somehow managed to escape-possibly because your father's enemies couldn't bring themselves to kill a woman or some stupid chivalric bullshit like that-and gave birth to you nine months later. The rest is history."

Renato felt as if he was going to vomit and faint. No, scratch that; he was going to vomit, faint _and _die. Soon some unfortunate soul would find his decomposing corpse in a gutter. "I don't believe you," he snapped, but sounded unconvinced even to his own ears.

Ernesto shrugged. "My job is not to make you believe me. All I need to do is inform you of your task, and once that's over with, I'll be more than happy to say _arrivederci_ to you."

"Task?" Renato repeated, the war drum of his heart starting up again. A headache was slowly but surely growing in his temples. _Ba-dump, ba-dump_.

"Yes, your task. It was originally intended for someone else, but now it has been given to you." Ernesto reached inside his jacket and Renato tensed, but instead of taking out a gun, Ernesto instead revealed a large envelope.

"What is it?" Renato asked nervously as Ernesto handed the envelope to him.

"Open it. There are instructions inside."

Renato obeyed somewhat reluctantly. He fished out a folded piece of paper. On it was some neatly written text:

In this basic guide for your very first mission, you will learn the tips and tricks of being a hitman. It is in your best interest to keep in mind at all times that we provide you with this guide only because of your age and inexperience. You are still expected and required to gain hands-on experience in actual combat, and this guide is a one-time offer only. Further guidance will not be provided by us.

Lastly, you are advised to acknowledge that "we" and "us" in the context of this document refer to the honourable _Cosa Nostra_. In doing so, you hereby accept the unquestionable existence of "our" organisation and agree to adhere to "our" rules and norms as decreed and set in stone by the Five Families. Please note that "we" will not accept responsibility for any physical and/or emotional damage that results from the completion of your work. In the event of your death, the blood shed of your mortal flesh will be deemed a worthy sacrifice for _Cosa Nostra_.

Renato felt a chill run down his spine, but Ernesto was watching him and so he continued reading.

You have been assigned to eliminate a troublesome opponent of ours. Information about the target is listed below.

Name(s): EMILIA SINCLAIR

Gender(s): FEMALE

Date(s) of birth(s): JANUARY 13

Title(s): CARRELLO FAMIGLIA SETTIMO CANDIDATE

Personal status: ALIVE

Professional status: UNEMPLOYED

Marital status: SINGLE

Current residence: MILAN, LOMBARDY-ITALY (Your handler will provide you with specific coordinates of target's home)

Significant individual(s) in the target's life: RENATO SINCLAIR (son)

BENITO D'AMBROGIO (sexual partner)

DONATO SINCLAIR (father)

EMILIA SINCLAIR SR. (mother)

ROBERTO SINCLAIR (older brother)

(Please note that individuals whose names are cancelled out have been eliminated by _Cosa Nostra_)

Defining physical characteristic(s): INSANITY (signs and symptoms include incoherent and deluded mumbling, foaming at the mouth, utter lack of control over motor function, tendency towards physical and verbal abuse, inability to recognise or retain memories of people she has met before)

Renato finished reading the document. His fingers were trembling. Ernesto coughed and Renato jumped. Boy and man locked gazes. "Well?" Ernesto said, his cold smile reappearing.

"I cannot kill my own mother." Renato swallowed hard. "No matter what she has done to me, I cannot gun her down in cold blood."

"Can't," Ernesto replied softly, "or won't?"

Memories raced through his mind. Emilia giving him the harshest punishments for the smallest offences. Locked in an airless wardrobe. Deprived of food for three consecutive days. No chances to go to school or make friends. Never enough chances. Growing up in the same filthy house, in the same miserable neighbourhood, for more than a decade. And suddenly, Renato's grip on the coffee cup tightened. The object shattered and coffee soaked the white bedsheets. Like old blood, it seeped into and tainted the previously neutral colour. Renato looked up and stared into Ernesto's empty eyes.

"Will." The boy-but perhaps he was not really a boy, not anymore-said. His voice was firm, and his hands clenched into fists.

Ernesto smiled yet again, and suddenly the coldness was gone, replaced by the kind of warmth that can pierce right through to something you didn't know was there before, deep inside you. "Good."

Rule 3: Hitmen do not forgive easily, and hatred is their strongest weapon. This is not a lie.


	2. Chapter 2

Renato was nothing if not patient.

For three days, he lurked near the house that had once been his home. _Never again_. He checked and re-checked the gun Ernesto had given him, a small black thing in mint condition. For the first time in his life, he was going to commit murder. Not just murder, but matricide. Excitement, apprehension and the merest trace of guilt ran through his veins.

The fateful day finally arrived. Ernesto, who was discreetly observing him from an abandoned house on the other side of the street, gave him a signal to make his move and carry out the mission.

It was over within minutes. Renato jimmied the lock on the front door and crept into the house. Emilia was rocking back and forth, muttering gibberish under her breath. In the last few minutes of her life, she caught sight of him and screamed. With quick, precise movements, he pinned her down on the floor and held the gun to her right temple.

"Tell me, Mother," he said softly. "You never told me anything about my father, my grandparents or my uncle…why is that?"

She made a desperate attempt to grab him. He swatted her hand away and tsked. "Oh, of course, it's because you're insane. Well, time to do the world a favour and erase you from existence. Goodbye."

BANG!

She stopped moving. As Renato watched the light fade from her eyes, the front door creaked and he tensed as footsteps approached, then relaxed when he saw that it was only Ernesto. The older male knelt, checked Emilia's prone body for a pulse, and finally gave a nod of approval. "Well done, boy."

Flushed with victory and sadistic glee, Renato began skipping merrily around the room. For the first time in his life, he felt free to express himself. Ernesto watched him with a smile that verged on affectionate.

"Be careful, you might trip over something."

Renato did a handstand and smirked at Ernesto. "Nope, don't think so."

Ernesto rolled his eyes. "When you're done celebrating, you have to decide the next step. If you want to leave Italy, I won't stop you. But if you choose to stay, your skills would be of great use to _Cosa Nostra_." He paused to let this sink in. "So what do you intend to do?"

The boy sighed and flipped back onto his feet. "I've been thinking about that, too."

Ernesto raised an eyebrow and remained silent, waiting for Renato to continue.

Renato gazed at his mother's corpse for a moment, then looked up and met the older male's gaze. "I'm in."

"Excellent." Ernesto reached out and patted Renato's bony shoulder. "Well then. Let's get you settled in, shall we?"

Years later, Renato would recall the utter lack of surprise on Ernesto's face and the calm, world-weary look in the older Mafioso's eyes-the unmistakable look of someone who has seen too much of the world and its dark underbelly. Even if Renato didn't constantly replay that image in his mind's eye, he would recognise it anywhere.

After all, it would eventually become his own default expression: a face of cynical indifference presented to the world, hiding inner turmoil.

X

They boarded a train. Ernesto bought a newspaper and proceeded to ignore Renato for almost the entire journey, immersed in rumours, scandals and the occasional matter-of-fact report. This suited Renato just fine. The boy looked out the windows of their carriage, through which he could see rolling hills and man-made buildings alike pass by in blurs in colour.

At some point during the journey, he found himself drifting along the border between consciousness and sleep. As the rattle of the train wheels lulled him in and out of hazy, half-forgotten dreams, he heard a male voice singing the words to a song he had never listened to before. Somehow, it comforted him as he travelled towards his future.

_Years from now, I'll want you years from now_

_And I'll hold you years from now, as I love you tonight…_

**Author's Note: Lyrics excerpted from a Dr Hook song of the same name as this story. It will continue to be referenced throughout.**


End file.
